


His Name in Black and White

by HannibabestheCannibabes



Category: Whitechapel (TV)
Genre: Angst, Drinking, First Kiss, Fluff, M/M, Romance
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-05-04
Updated: 2020-05-05
Packaged: 2021-03-02 21:08:54
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 2
Words: 5,308
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/24003364
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/HannibabestheCannibabes/pseuds/HannibabestheCannibabes
Summary: After the failure to bring in yet another killer, Chandler finds himself pasted across the capital's newspapers. But clouds may have silver linings, as he seeks comfort in Kent.
Relationships: Joseph Chandler/Emerson Kent
Comments: 7
Kudos: 57





	1. Chapter 1

**His Name in Black and White**

It had already been posted by the time they entered the office that morning. Ripped cleanly from the newspaper it had boldly fronted, the article had been stuck cruelly to the Inspector’s door. 

**Is this London’s Worst Inspector?**

The headline, accompanied by a blurry photo of DI Joseph Chandler taken at their latest failed arrest, made Kent cringe as he approached. He’d seen the article already that morning, splashed on the front of the paper on his seat as he’d boarded the Tube. Against his own wishes, his hands had picked it up, his eyes scouring each and every line. It had made his stomach turn.

‘Who the hell put that up?’ Miles pointed at the offending paper, voice gruff. ‘Come on, spit it out.’

‘It wouldn’t have been me…’

‘It wouldn’t have been any of us.’ Riley interrupted Kent with a sorrowful shrug. ‘No doubt a nasty joke from another team.’

‘Yeah, Skip, you know Vice is full of wankers.’ Mansell’s contribution, as he kicked his feet up onto his desk.

‘Well, get rid of it. Before the boss sees it.’

‘I’ve already seen it.’ Chandler seemed to appear from behind them without sound, materialising with green tea in hand. He looked tired, far more tired than the team felt they had seen him in the four years of working together. ‘There was a copy posted on every noticeboard in the station when I arrived.’

‘Well then, sir, you’ll already know it’s all bullsh…’

‘It’s a petty attempt to undermine this team’s character and hardwork.’ Chandler cut his sergeant off swiftly. His voice, despite the words he said, stayed flat. ‘We would do well to ignore it. As for the article itself, the press is free to publish whatever it wishes…’

‘Even when they know bloody nothing.’ His grumbling earnt Miles a raised eyebrow from the Inspector.

‘Still. Now, take the article down, and get on with work. We’re still waiting on CCTV and autopsy reports. Chase them down. And yesterday’s door to door needs completing.’ When the team failed to move, he snapped. ‘Now. Get on with it now. Crimes don’t stop just because of rubbish printed in shoddy newspapers.’ Chandler snatched the page taped to his office himself, scrunching it and throwing it into the closest bin, before slamming the door behind him.

He was followed by Miles only moments later, just long enough for him to find the Inspector seated, massaging tiger balm into his temples with rapid determination. He didn’t need to open his eyes to know his sergeant had taken the seat opposite.

‘Do you want to talk about it?’

‘About what?’

‘The price of milk. What do you think? The bloody article.’

Chandler opened his eyes reluctantly. ‘No.’

‘Well, you can’t spend your day stropping in your office.’ At the lack of response, he leant forward in the chair slightly. ‘You know the team doesn’t agree with a word of it?’

‘But the press do. And the public do. And clearly so do the rest of the police force.’

‘That was just some sick idea of a joke this morning, boss, don’t let it bother you.’

‘But it does.’ He slammed both hands down against the desk, causing his own eyes to widen at his anger. When he spoke again, his voice was softer. ‘It does bother me, Miles. Why can’t I bring in a killer alive? I could just about forgive myself for the Ripper, for the Kray case even. Both were difficult. Both had...other forces at work. But the others? This last one? There is no excuse for that.’

‘You had no idea the bastard was going to hang himself.’

‘But I should have done. Any half-decent Inspector should have been able to see the signs. I should have been there to stop him.’

‘You’re a detective, Joe, not a mindreader. You can’t blame yourself for that.’

‘Everybody else does.’

* * *

Despite Miles’ best attempts, he stayed locked in his office for the rest of the day, however, disturbed only once further as the evening fell to be unsuccessfully invited to the local for what Mansell had affectionately termed ‘a fucking well-earned pint.’ Kent watched from his desk as Miles left the office, shaking his head, and the younger officer removed the coat he’d just put on.

‘Pub, Kent. Come on.’ Riley gestured. ‘If I stare at a screen any longer, I think my head might explode.’

‘Yeah, no point us sticking around when his lordship won’t leave his bloody office.’ Mansell scowled, throwing on his coat. ‘Stick your coat on, Kent, or first round’s on you.’

‘I’m going to stay here.’ He shrugged as casually as he could manage, pulling his gaze from the closed off office in front to Miles. ‘You go. That alright, sarge? I’ve got paperwork, and a phone call to chase up on and…’

Miles seemed to follow Kent’s stare as it moved back to the closed door, and he nodded, placing a hand on his shoulder. ‘Keep an eye on him. He’s alright, he’ll be alright, but just keep an eye on him.’

‘He won’t have any trouble doing that.’ Mansell commented, just loud enough to cause a deep flush across Kent’s face.

Miles chose to ignore it. ‘Make sure he doesn’t stay too late.’

* * *

It was quiet after they left. It always was. He enjoyed it. Not to say Kent didn’t like the team. He appreciated Miles’ gruff attitude, Riley’s maternal nature, Buchan’s passion for his job (despite Kent still not being entirely certain of what that was). He could have done without Mansell, but he supposed every team had to have one arsehole like that. But that didn’t stop the evening being his favourite time of the day. When it was just him in the department, and Chandler in the office. Both working, of course, no communication between them other than work and the occasional offer of tea, but still they were working together, alone, just the two of them. No-one to catch him as he stared slightly longer through the office glass, no-one to raise an eyebrow as he offered the Inspector a third cup of tea, or volunteered for another task, however menial, just to see the gratitude on his face. No-one to mock him, even as his own hopeless attempts at attention made him cringe at himself.

Chandler raised his head as he heard the knock at the door, though he’d recognised the hesitant knock before he did so. ‘Kent. You’re still here?’

‘Yes, sir. I had paperwork to complete, and there’s a lead I’m chasing down…’

‘Have the others all left?’

‘Yes, sir. They went to the pub about half an hour ago.’

‘But you stayed?’

‘Work, sir.’ He felt the familiar flush on his cheeks at the Inspector’s continued stare. As distraction, he held up his mug. ‘I’m making tea, I just wanted to know if you wanted one? I think we’re out of green, but there’s peppermint and chamomile.’

‘I think after today I might need something stronger.’ Chandler stood up from his desk, closing his pad as he did so. ‘Where did the others go?’

‘The local, I think. I can find out for you if you want to join, I’m sure they’ll still be there…’

‘No, thank you, Kent. I don’t think spending the evening listening to Buchan’s history talks, or any of Mansell’s stories is what I need right now.’ Chandler stopped, looking at him curiously. ‘But if your paperwork could wait, I know somewhere quiet nearby?’

‘With me?’ He hated how pathetically excited his voice seemed to sound. He was grateful the Inspector hadn’t seemed to notice.

‘With you, yes. If work isn’t too pressing.’

‘It can wait.’

* * *

He had often wondered what sort of bar Chandler would frequent and the answer, as Kent realised upon entering, was expensive. It didn’t look too different really to the local pubs the team regularly visited, but it was quiet, only a handful of people in the entire bar, with none of the tired, overplayed music Kent was used to hearing from the bars he visited, or used to visit, before his life seemed to become dominated by work. It was sparse and clean in a way that reminded Kent of the Inspector’s office, of the desk arrangement he had adopted, and he could see why Chandler seemed to breathe easier than he did in any other pub. The only real surprise was that it was dark, the lights dim, and tables lit with candles. It would have made a romantic setting for a date, Kent realised, and his cheeks burnt up with just the thought. He was very grateful suddenly for the lack of light.

He was grateful also that Chandler had also seemed to acknowledge the price differences, for he brought their first drinks, placing Kent’s pint in front of him gently as he sat down. ‘I feel people staring.’

‘I can’t imagine so, sir. It’s too dark and I can’t imagine why...’

‘I was on the front cover of every one of their newspapers this morning, Kent. I think they’re staring.’ The Inspector didn’t appear to be wrong, as much as both men wished he were. Kent had caught their eyes even in the shadows as they’d walked in, the narrowed stare of the barman as they retreated to their seats.

‘We can go elsewhere, sir, I think I know another bar nearby. Though it’s louder, and I don’t think they clean the floor that often.’

‘No, it’s fine.’ He took a short sip from his glass. ‘And it can be Joe when not in work, Kent.’

‘Emerson then, sir...Joe. Or Em.’

‘Emerson.’ He liked the way it sounded from the Inspector’s mouth, looking away quickly at the smile that had appeared on his face. He didn’t follow with anything, and an awkward silence began to hang in the air. ‘I’m sorry, I’m not very good at this. At being social. I don’t seem to know what to discuss except work.’

‘I can talk about work.’

‘It’s hardly the relaxing evening drink you’ve had had with the rest of the team.’ He gave a small wave of his hand. ‘Why not go and join them instead, Kent? I can stay here, even return to the office. I shouldn’t have suggested this when I’m such poor company.’

‘I don’t find you poor company.’ He sounded incredibly pitiful even to himself. Chandler however seemed to give a weak smile. ‘And I enjoy work, I don’t mind discussing it. According to my housemates, it’s all I do talk about.’

‘I forget you have housemates.’

‘London prices, sir...Joe.’

‘Would you want to live alone?’ He thought of his own flat, his own space, and tried to imagine ever having a stranger there. He found just the idea uncomfortable. ‘Or do you enjoy having housemates?’

‘I’d rather live alone. I didn’t mind housemates at uni but I resent them a bit now. They’re messy, and loud, and they cause drama over things I just don’t understand and...sorry, I can go on a bit about them. I try not to.’

‘You can always look at going for promotion, if you want to move out that much.’ Chandler suggested, watching as the officer’s eyes widened. ‘You’ve been a DC for over six years now, a very competent DC as well. A promotion wouldn’t be out of the question for you.’

‘I’m not sure…’

‘You are one of the best officers I’ve worked with, Emerson. I don’t see why you think you shouldn’t try.’ He stood up. ‘Another drink?’

His cheeks were still red by the time Chandler had returned, passing him another drink. ‘Don’t tell Skip, sir, about any promotion. Don’t want him thinking I’m going after his job.’

‘I can’t see why it would concern Miles. You wouldn’t be able to get promoted whilst working in Whitechapel anyway.’

The younger man frowned. ‘What? Why not?’

‘I can’t see anyone getting promoted whilst working under the worst Inspector in London. I’m surprised I even still have my job, never mind helping anyone improve theirs.’

‘Sir, that article was crap. They had no right to publish it.’

‘But they did. And they were correct.’

‘They weren’t on the case like we were. They have no idea how hard we worked. How hard you worked.’

‘For nothing.’ 

‘It wasn’t for nothing. You’ve saved people’s lives by solving these cases.’

‘I’ve hardly saved lives whilst I’ve caused the deaths of every killer I’ve tried to arrest.’

‘The killers take the coward’s way out, sir. That’s not your fault.’

‘You think their suicides are cowardly?’ His voice was hard when he spoke, harder than Kent had expected from him. ‘That they took a coward’s approach?’

‘I think if you can take a person’s life, but not face the repercussions, that is cowardly, yes.’

Chandler seemed to soften at his answer. ‘You would make a good sergeant, Emerson, just not at Whitechapel.’ He took a long drink, trying to avoid the pained expression in his officer’s eyes. ‘But if you wanted the promotion, I could help find you another department, another station. There are better places out there for you.’

‘Then I don’t want the promotion.’ He shrugged. ‘I like the team, I like our cases. And you’re a good Inspector, sir.’

‘You’ve hardly known any others.’

‘I’ve known a lot of Inspectors, actually. We had almost a new Inspector every case before you arrived, but you’re the only one who has managed to stick it out.’ Kent wasn’t quite sure what he was saying, where these words seemed to be coming from. He’d had one of his pints, yet could feel the warmth of it already, the alcohol loosening his lips. ‘You’re focused, and dedicated, and clearly intelligent. You’ve worked harder than any of us on every single case. And you’ve solved every case you’ve ever had, Joe, even if the press haven’t seen it that way. We all see it...I see it.’

‘That’s just the role of any Inspector. Any Inspector should have those traits.’

‘But you seem to be the only Inspector who actually does. You’re the only Inspector I’ve ever met who I’ve truly respected, or admired, or....’ He swallowed nervously, the words he’d tried so hard to keep to himself now on his tongue. ‘Liked. I like you, sir.’

The words were lost on him, helped perhaps by the dark, or by the way Kent had hidden his embarrassed face in his pint. ‘How much your team likes you has no bearing on your job as an Inspector.’

‘That isn’t what I meant, sir.’ Perhaps he had missed lunch, for the alcohol seemed to have hit him hard, to have given him a reckless confidence he had not felt in a long time. Not since the university days of binge drinking and poor life choices. Not that he seemed to have any problem still with poor life choices. ‘I like you, Joe.’

Chandler didn’t seem to realise what Kent’s words meant until he had Kent’s hand cupping his cheek gently, and his lips against his own in a soft kiss. Nor did he realise just how much he had wanted this moment until he found himself kissing him back, even deepening the kiss until Kent could taste the whiskey on the Inspector’s tongue, and his hand against his waist. And it lasted minutes before Chandler seemed to pull away with panic in his eyes, and horror on his face, before leaving Kent sat alone at the table, his eyes stinging with tears.


	2. Chapter 2

**Chapter 2**

‘Oi, boss.’ Chandler turned to find his sergeant approaching, shaking his head. ‘Judy’s cutting cake. Stand out here too long and you’ll miss your slice.’

‘Sorry, Miles.’

‘What are you doing out here anyway?’ Miles stood next to the Inspector, both looking into the carp pond of the sergeant’s back garden. He’d spent the last five minutes looking around the house for the man before he’d spotted his solitary figure from an upstairs window. ‘When we invited you over, we didn’t really count on you spending the evening outside with a face like a slapped arse.’

‘Hey.’

‘What’s wrong?’ He asked, softer, trying to read anything from the frown across the other man’s face. ‘If it’s still that article then you need to move on. It’s been a week. Nothing else has been printed, plus you should have heard the bollocking I gave to Vice.’

‘It’s not the article.’

‘Well, it can’t be work. We haven’t had a bloody case in days.’

‘It’s nothing.’ 

‘And you’re a crap liar.’ Miles responded roughly, before sighing. ‘Fine. Just don’t stay out here too long. My Judy bakes like no-one’s business. You’ll kick yourself if you miss out.’

‘Kent kissed me.’

Miles had turned already to rejoin the dinner party when the Inspector spoke. At the sound, his head snapped back. ‘What?’

‘Kent kissed me.’ It had been a week. A long week perhaps but still only a week since the article was published, since Chandler’s foolish invitation, and since he’d felt his officer’s lips warm against his own, a memory he’d replayed to himself so often that it should have felt frayed. A week of sitting in his office paralysed by his own fear that anyone who walked in would be able to read his thoughts on his face, to know who he thought of, what he thought of. And now he was cursing himself as he relayed his own secret to another. ‘He told me he liked me and he...kissed me.’

A deep intake of breath.‘ Well, I can’t say we weren’t all wondering when he’d snap.’ 

‘What do you mean?’

The genuine surprise of his question caused Miles to frown as he looked at him. ‘What do you mean what do I mean? You must know Kent’s had his eye on you for years. Mansell’s been making jokes for months, none of them that subtle. I’d tell you not to mention any of this to him, but he’s given himself away already it seems.’

‘How long?’

‘How long? Bloody hell, boss, you had no idea? I thought you were supposed to be an Inspector.’ The joke fell flat between them, to be expected Miles supposed given the look of devastation that was growing on the other man’s face. ‘I’d say since you arrived with the Ripper. Whenever it was you first noticed him…’

‘He handed me chalk.’ Chandler was amazed he could remember it, though the idea now caused his cheeks to redden slightly.

‘Yeah, that. Did you just think he stuck around every night for the joy of unpaid overtime?’

‘I didn’t think…’

‘Look, Joe, it’ll be no harm done. Just try have a meeting with him next week, straighten things out. He’s young, he’ll get over it.’ Miles put a hand on his shoulder with a small smile, his best attempt at comfort. ‘Just be gentle with him. He’s a good lad.’

It might have been Miles’ hand, or the look on his face, or the fact that so much had already been said that more couldn’t possibly make Chandler feel any worse, that he allowed four more words to escape him. ‘I kissed him back.’

The evening was too still for Miles to claim he’d misheard, or missed the entire confession. Instead, he allowed himself a small chuckle. ‘Well, that’s a turn up for the books.’

‘Miles…’

‘Look, don’t take this the wrong way, Joe, but I think I’m going to need a beer in hand for this talk. Give me a minute. Want one? I’ll try nab some cake as well.’

He was grateful for the beer placed in his hand upon Miles’ return, even without the cake (‘ _ told you it’d be gone quick _ ’). He was grateful also for the garden chairs the sergeant dragged up that he sunk into despite the hard plastic.

‘Look, boss, I told you not to worry about the gay stuff. The team doesn’t care, never has…’

‘I’m not gay.’

‘Then the other one, where you like both. Doesn’t both us, long as you’re happy. Besides, I know they say no-one’s gay on the job, but Head of West Midlands, she’s gay now. It’s different times.’

‘I don’t even know if I am...anything.’

‘But you kissed Kent?’ At the Inspector’s silence, accompanied by a long swig of the bottle in his hand, Miles shrugged. ‘Alright, boss, so it was a kiss. He’s not expecting you to marry him. Jesus, Mansell’s on a different bird every week, no harm done. Just again, let him down easy. Kent’s a crack officer, lose him to another department and we’ll actually all have to do our own paperwork again.’ That earned him a smile, albeit brief, from the other man. ‘I mean, of course, that is if you don’t actually like him?’

The smile faltered with the question, and with Miles’ quizzical stare. ‘I don’t know.’

‘Well, it’s not that hard. Do you like him?’

‘Kent’s a good officer, and an excellent member of the team and…’ 

Chandler couldn’t say that the exact question hadn’t also been all he’d been asking himself the last week. He wasn’t gay. He knew he wasn’t gay. He’d dated women, many women. Singular dates of stilted conversation in overpriced restaurants, accompanied by pitiful smiles as they watched him rearrange his cutlery, or refold his napkin before he ate. Some of them he’d even taken home with him for awkward fumblings with zippers and clasps and sex that made them both wake the next morning with apologetic smiles, and false promises of another time. And there’d been the more recent too. DI Norroy. Morgan Lamb. And he’d never even looked at Kent like that. No, he wasn’t gay. 

But then he replayed the kiss once more and he felt his heart race in a way it had never before, with any of the women he’d sat across from, even with any of the women he’d lay beside. He felt no shame for the heat had pooled in his stomach at the memory, the way he’d wanted to pull the officer closer to him, felt his fingers almost itch to touch his skin. And perhaps he’d noticed more of Kent than he’d realised, than he’d admitted even to himself.

‘And that look on your face right now, boss, tells me more than I need to know,’ Miles said softly, bringing Chandler back with fear-widened eyes. ‘If you like him, tell him.’

‘It’s my junior officer, it’s unprofessional…’

‘It’s also unprofessional to keep a bottle of vodka in your desk, and some weird historian in the basement, but you had no problems with both of them.’ He shrugged, swigging his own beer to ignore the sharp look from the Inspector. ‘If the police had to sack every Inspector who’d had a bit of a fling with one of their officers, we’d have no bloody Inspectors left. I’m not letting you get out of this with that excuse.’

‘What if I can’t be enough for him?’ He was soft when he asked, speaking into his hands rather than to the other man. He caught his expression as he looked over however. ‘I don’t need that from you, Miles. I’m not enough for him. I’m over ten years his senior, a failed Inspector, and I have too many...problems to ask him to deal with. Kent would deserve better than I could give him.’

‘Do you think that Kent has been working blind for the last four years, Joe? Or do you think he’s so poor a police officer he hasn’t noticed any of the things you just said? He knows how old you are, he knows what the press keeps printing, and he’s been there for all of your...well, been there for you, the good cases and the bad.’

‘That doesn’t mean he understands these things. The effect they have. The effect they’d have on him.’

‘And telling me about them won’t do a bloody thing. I’m a good sarge, I’m not a psychic. Look, Joe.’ He waited for the other man to meet his eyes, ignoring the vulnerable flush of his cheeks. ‘I’m not one for making my job harder. I like the team, I don’t want anything to mess that up. And I don’t do this soppy shit either. But I’m still telling you that, if you like Kent, you should talk to him. That boy has spent the last four years pining after you, and I’m not letting you break his heart because you’re too scared to have a conversation with him. You’re difficult, sure, but you’re not impossible. Give it a go.’

* * *

Kent knocked quietly on the door, shifting uncomfortably as he waited. Under his arm, he had a mid-priced red wine. In his left pocket, he had his letter of resignation. He wasn't entirely sure which one was more appropriate. But then, in his defence, he wasn’t entirely sure what he was doing. 

He’d received the text earlier that Saturday afternoon, sent in Chandler’s traditionally minimal format, just his address, a time and a quick ‘thanks’. And of course Kent had reacted in the same way he imagined all men who kiss their heterosexual male employers react: he’d assumed he was about to be fired. Of course, he wasn’t entirely sure it was police regulation to sack your officers at your own flat after inviting them over, but then he couldn’t imagine ever being able to challenge such an action without having to explain why he needed to be fired and just the thought caused his face to flush.

It was as his face reddened that the door opened. ‘Kent.’

‘Sir.’ He mumbled, too aware of how unwilling the other man was to meet his eyes. Too aware also of the formality of his dress, a shirt and tie even in his own flat. His free hand reached into his pocket to the resignation letter.

‘Please come in, Kent.’

He didn’t allow Chandler to take his coat, unable to without taking out the letter and he hadn’t quite worked himself up yet to hand it over. He did allow himself to be led into the main room, and accepted a glass of water with a nod of his head. The flat was as clean and expensive as Kent had expected. He was beginning to regret allowing himself to dress so casually, cringing at the t-shirt he’d thrown on beneath his coat.

‘I brought you this.’ He placed the red wine on the coffee table awkwardly. At Chandler’s silence ( _ what had he expected? _ ) he made himself pull out the envelope as well. ‘I also brought this. I figured it might save you some time today.’

‘What is it?’ Despite having placed the glasses of water on the table as well, neither man sat down, too unsure of what the other was thinking.

‘My resignation letter. I thought it would save you having to fire me.’

Chandler felt his heart sink, his face fall. ‘I don’t want your resignation letter.’

‘I’d rather that than be sacked, sir, if you don’t mind.’

‘I haven’t invited you here to sack you either, Kent.’ He wanted to reach out to him, his hand jumping, but he stretched it out to extend to the leather sofa beside them both. When he took his seat, Chandler resisted the urge to sit closer, keeping the distance between them. ‘I invited you here to apologise to you.’

‘Apologise for what, sir?'

‘Joe, please. This isn’t work.’ He took a deep breath before he spoke, forcing himself to look into the other man’s face, despite the fluttering in his chest at the sight ( _ How had he not noticed before? _ ) ‘I want to apologise to you for my behaviour this last week, Kent...Emerson. I know I’ve been avoiding you. I know I haven’t spoken to you. And I know the impact that must have had on you.’

‘It’s ok. I understand.’

‘That isn’t all I want to apologise to you for.’ He couldn’t keep his hands still, they fidgeted in his lap as he spoke. ‘I want to apologise for how I reacted last week, in the bar. I ran out on you. I was scared, but that is not an excuse.’

Kent felt like he hadn’t breathed in minutes, as if doing so would interrupt everything that was being said. ‘That was my fault.’

‘I won’t allow you to fault yourself for something…’ Another deep breath. ‘Something I also wanted. Something I had also wanted for a long time, but just hadn’t let myself admit.’ 

‘What do you…?’

‘I like you, Kent. I like you.’ They seemed to have moved closer to each other in the time it had taken to speak, and Kent’s coat was now thrown over the arm of the chair, because Kent was close enough to raise his hand and reach for the other man’s cheek, and lean forward to close the gap further. He stopped as he felt Chandler whisper against his skin. ‘But I can’t do this, Emerson.’

Kent pulled away as if he’d been slapped. His cheeks were pale. He refused to meet the other man’s gaze. ‘I don’t understand.’

‘I can’t give you what you want here, what you need.’

‘I only want you, Joe.’ The words sounded desperately needy in his ears. ‘Why?’

‘I’m not good for you. I’m not good for anyone, but especially not for you.’

‘That’s for me to decide.’

‘No, it isn’t. You don’t know what this, what I, would do to you.’ This wasn’t going how he’d expected, how he’d imagined in his mind. A tear had now slipped down Kent’s cheek. Chandler had to resist wiping it away. ‘I wouldn’t be good for you, Emerson, in any way. I can’t help you at work. The minute anyone associated you with me, you would be as blemished as me. You’d never rise. No promotions, no pay rises.’

‘I don’t care.’

‘Your family, your friends, they wouldn’t accept this.’

‘You don’t know that.’

‘I know me. I’m older, I’m...hard work. They’d want to see you with someone easier, your age, someone you could take to parties, go to clubs. Not someone like me. Not someone who sometimes has to drink to get through a case, or who can’t focus if everything doesn’t look exactly as it should, or someone who…’ His outburst was halted as Kent reached for him and kissed him,placing both hands on his cheeks to hold him steady, to stop him breaking away as Kent’s lips opened and he kissed him harder and deeper and Chandler responded with a greater need than he could have imagined. Kent’s eyes were dark when he pulled away. ‘I can’t do this, Emerson. I haven’t done this, ever before. I can’t promise you how this would ever work. How slow I would need, how fast I could go. You deserve more.’

‘I want you, Joe. I don’t care how long it would take. I don’t care what you think being with you would be like. I’ve seen you Joe, almost every day for four years, and I’ve never seen a part of you I didn’t want.’

‘I’ve never been with a man.’

‘I don’t care.’

‘You’ll be stuck in Whitechapel for the rest of your career.’ 

Another kiss. ‘I don’t care.’

‘I can’t offer you anything.’

‘All I want is you.’

* * *

They lay together, only an hour later, in Chandler’s bed, Kent’s head resting softly against his Inspector’s chest. Chandler couldn’t bring himself to care too much about the sweat on their skin, the damp patch of sheet beneath them, concerned only with the feel of the other man against him, his dark curls beneath his fingers. ‘No-one at work can know.’

‘Our secret.’


End file.
